


A House in Embers

by fernsintheforest



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Begging, Control, M/M, Power Play, Teasing, Touch-Starved, artistic horniness, i hate tagging sexyfics, lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27640001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fernsintheforest/pseuds/fernsintheforest
Summary: Will's control finally crumbles.Hannibal isn't going to rush this.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, hannigram
Kudos: 43





	A House in Embers

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: There is no explicit sex in this fic!!! It's based off a prompt i had saved on my phone from like three years ago, and I really just wanted to explore the power dynamics between will and hannibal here. if the whim strikes me then i might come back and write a chapter two with da sexiness T-T   
> it depends on how this oneshot does!!! So what im trying to say is: if you want the hannigram sexytimes, leave me nice comments XDD

“Please touch me. Hold me. Hurt me, slap me, f-fuck me, whatever.” Will begged, his breath warm on Hannibal’s cheek. “Just do something. Anything. Please. Please.”

The psychiatrist felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he looked down on Will--his Will, as he’d come to think of him--with his long, dark eyelashes fluttering rapidly over his brown eyes that were glassy with desire. A few desperate sounds slipped past the cage of his supple, soft-pink lips. Hannibal wanted to bite them like ripe strawberries. The brown curls Hannibal had inspired him to cut were pushed back from his face; he had been pleasantly surprised by how the haircut shaped Will’s face and allowed the light to play on his cheekbones and in the irises of his eyes, though sometimes he missed the wild, curling brown locks that just begged to be taken and pulled by the fist from behind.

Will was breaking, but in a different way than how Jack or Alana wanted him to break. They wanted to push him up against the fire and see how long it took for him to scream. And while the sounds of Will’s screams were like the sweetest cello to Hannibal’s ears, he had a different way of shaping his Will; he wanted to take the fire into his own hands and show him just how good the warmth could feel.

Now, his hand was in the hearth.

Will was pressed against the wall of his home, Hannibal standing less than hand’s length away from him--nearly, nearly touching, but not quite. He took this time to breathe in the other man’s scent, to memorize the sound of his breathing, to think of the ratio of colours he’d mix to paint the exact tone of his skin. 

“Hannibal.” 

The desperate sound of his name came out like a shaking sob. He looked up into Hannibal’s eyes, and the psychiatrist saw that they were rapidly filling with tears. This was his sweet torture. He wanted to savor every second of Will’s rapidly-fading control. It wouldn’t last much longer, and Hannibal knew that his own wouldn’t, either.

Will was burning brighter, brighter, brighter. And the glow was so sweet.

The heady, sweat-soaked scent of arousal was flooded between them; his sweet Will was already swung to the highest velocity of sexual need just from the closeness, the attention, the thought of it, the promise of it--and he hadn’t even been touched or spoken to yet. To say Hannibal derived no pleasure from the power would be a lie. His own stomach pooled with a tight warmth.

“What do you want me to do, Will?”

The sound alone of his voice had instant reaction, and Hannibal watched as another layer of the paper-thin control disintegrated right before his eyes.

Will grabbed at words for a second, breathing in for a second and scrubbing at his face with his palms. He was getting flustered. His clever mind was clouded with the haze of lust.

“Can you tell me?” The psychiatrist prompted, his tone remained semi-professional despite their compromising position.

“I want to help you,” Hannibal told him, “but you have to ask me.”

Will’s wide, brown, shining eyes looked vulnerably up into Hannibal’s. His pink lips were barely parted. The psychiatrist relished watching as the final layer crumbled, and Will choked out,

“T-Touch me. Please.”

With a smile of pleasure and amusement, Hannibal complied, and laid a hand slowly, gently, against Will’s cheek. A tear crept out of closing eyes and dripped against Hannibal’s hand like a raindrop.

Their hands were in the hearth, and now the house smoldered around them.


End file.
